


linger on my tongue (like an aftertaste)

by cathect



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Completely Consensual, F/M, Not Cheating, Not dialogue heavy, derek kind of has a thing for allison, not explicit enough for an explicit rating, one sided pining?, revenge fucking sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect
Summary: He knows it’s because she’s angry at Scott. This, what she’s doing, has little to nothing to do with Derek at all. He’s just the warm body she can manipulate to get her point across, to tell Scott that she doesn’t care.“Allison.” He warns. “I’m not the guy who’s going to talk you down. To tell you that you’re just upset, that you should rethink this. That’s not me.”“Why do you think I’m here?”- or -The one where Scott tells Allison what really happened to her mother and she fucks Derek to get back at him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i feel as though i need to preface this with the fact that i have absolutely zero idea where this came from. this fic was written over the course of two nights and all of the writing was done between two and six in the morning. this has not been proofread at all. because i knew if i waited to get the courage to ask someone to proofread this piece of trash for me, i would never post it.
> 
> be gentle.

Derek’s first instinct, when he hears a knock on his door at three in the morning, is to either wolf out or grab his gun, but the knock is so small, so hesitant, that he knows whoever, whatever, is on the other side of the door can’t be there to attack him.

It’s a Friday night, or, a Saturday morning, now, and he’s been drinking. He can’t get drunk, never could, but he enjoys the burning in his throat, and the slightly filmy taste of bourbon on his tongue when he wakes up. He can see the last few sips of his drink in the glass on the table.

There’s another knock, this one with even less conviction than the first, if that’s even possible, and he rushes to throw on a shirt as he goes to the door. The sooner he answers, the sooner they go away, and he can get back to sleeping.

There’s the faintest sound of footsteps, punctuated by a heeled shoe, walking down the hall away from his door. He stops, listens, to see if maybe he can get by with just pretending he’s still asleep, or not home at all. The steps stop, there’s the same hesitation in the next footfall as there was in the first knock, and he can’t take it anymore.

She’s the last person he could have ever expected to see on the other side of the sliding metal door, but there she is.

“Allison?” At the sound of his voice, she turns around. There are tear tracks on her face, and her mouth is red, like she’s been crying for a long time.

He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t ask if she’s okay.

Before he can say anything else, she’s slipping through the small space between him and the door, and into his loft.

His mouth is open to ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing, but he just closes the door instead.

Silently, he pours her a drink. It’s not a friendly gesture, moreso to calm the violent shaking of her body that he can feel from across the room. He’s trying to suss out what’s wrong with her without actually having to ask. He offers her the glass and she takes it, nodding her head instead of offering up a thank you. For some reason, he prefers it that way.

Seconds stretch into minutes and the next time Derek takes a moment to actually think, half of her drink is gone and they’re still standing in total silence.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here or are you just going to drink my liquor and stare at my bed?” Her eyes snap back to looking at him, and he wonders if she’d even noticed she was doing it. She clears her throat.

“I, uh. I wanted to talk to you.” He raises an eyebrow.

“To talk to me? Really?” he asks. “Because you aren’t off to a very good start.” Her face contorts and she’s angry, but her eyes are missing their usual fire.

“Do you really have to do that right now?” He rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Allison. I really have to do that right now.” he says. He hates to pretend he’s mad at her, but it’s a masquerade he has to keep up. “It’s three in the morning, and you show up here with no warning and-”

“Derek, please.” Her voice cracks in the middle of her sentence, and dammit if it doesn’t hurt his heart to see someone so strong broken in front of him. He holds up his hands as if in surrender and lets her go on. “Scott told me what really happened with my mom.”

Suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense.

That night at the vault, Derek had told Scott that maybe he should tell Allison what really happened to her mother. He’d absolutely done it on purpose, had planted the seed of doubt in her mind, and he still isn’t really sure why.

Something about Allison has always gotten to him. He wants to blame it on Kate, wants to be able to say that he’s still wounded, still not over the way she used him. But he can’t. Because Allison isn’t Kate. No, there’s something specific to the brunette that digs at him, that gets under his skin.

“Did he?” He doesn’t mean to sound so disinterested. In fact, he’s very curious where this is headed.

“And I wanted to apologize.” And then she does something he couldn’t have predicted in a million years.

Before he can even breathe, Allison pulls her shirt over her head and throws it to the floor.

It takes Derek a moment to even process what this means.

He knows it’s because she’s angry at Scott. This, what she’s doing, has little to nothing to do with Derek at all. He’s just the warm body she can manipulate to get her point across, to tell Scott that she doesn’t care.

“Allison.” He warns. “I’m not the guy who’s going to talk you down. To tell you that you’re just upset, that you should rethink this. That’s not me.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Her voice is strong, unwavering, so unlike how it was just five minutes before, and he knows she’s put a lot of thought into this.

“Allison.” He sighs, trying one more time to make her understand.

He’s really only hesitating because of Scott, because it’s taken him a long time to earn the kid’s trust. But, truth be told, the sight of her like this is making his mouth water and he’s already half hard at the thought of having her underneath him.

Derek isn’t blind. He knows that Allison is attractive, and he’d be lying if he said he’s never thought of her in this way, wondered what she feels like, tastes like. He’s  _ mostly _ human, after all. But he never thought that those private thoughts could ever come to fruition.

He’s so caught up in his own brain that he doesn’t even notice Allison stepping forward, inching her way closer to him. He does, however, notice the feeling of her slightly shaky hands at the hem of his tee shirt.

He’s raising his arms over his head before he even has the chance to properly make a decision.

She looks up at him, a small smile playing on her face, as she begins to drag the fabric up his torso, her nails scraping his skin along the way. Once it’s off, he places a hand on either side of her neck, using his thumbs to tip her chin up.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks. He refuses to do this if she isn’t positive, if she doesn’t understand what this means, what this is.

“Derek.” she says. “This is what I want.”

“Nothing is going to change between us.” he says, eyes holding hers like his life depends on it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her eyes are red, tired, and he almost feels bad for giving in when she’s in this state. But she’s no idiot. No, she’s one of the smartest people he’s ever met, and, if she didn’t want this, she wouldn’t have even considered coming.

When he finally kisses her, there’s an explosion in his chest.

It may be the fact that he’s sex-starved, it may be the fact that he can feel the desperation and desire radiating off of her, but it’s probably the fact that there’s an undeniable chemistry between them that he’s been dying to explore.

It’s angry when they collide; less like fireworks, and more like gunshots.

She wastes no time in pulling him back to the bed, his bed, and he presses a hand into her back to keep her steady as he lowers her down. Her skin is soft against his fingers.

He’s kissing her like his life depends on it, taking everything he can. He revels in the gasps and the moans as he traces every inch of her neck and shoulders he can with his teeth and tongue. He should feel guilty, should think this is wrong. But how can he when she’s warm and wanting and so damn responsive below him?

He’s suddenly met with a salty taste and he pulls back to see that she’s crying, but the tears are angry.

Shocked back into reality, he shifts to the side, resting on his hip so he can look at her. She has her eyes closed, and her hands come up to cover her face.

“Allison.” He whispers. The sound of her swallowing is loud in his sensitive ears.

“I’m okay.” Her hands come down and she meets his eyes again and for the first time they understand each other.

Derek and Allison have never really gotten along, never seen eye to eye, never could. They were bred to hate each other, to hunt each other, and that’s what has landed them here, in his bed. She’s hunted him all the way back to his mattress.

He feels the shift of her body, the swing of her leg as she straddles his waist, dark hair surrounding them like a curtain as she leans down to kiss him again. It’s shorter now, than it used to be, and he finds himself burying his fingers in it.

She pulls back for a moment, removing her body from his completely, and the sound of her boots hitting the floor is like thunder.

When she returns, he rolls them on the bed, hovering above her once again. She seems more than happy to let him take control. He pushes his hips down into hers and she gasps. He smiles into her mouth, doing it again.

Kissing his way down her body, he sits back on his heels to hook his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. He doesn’t bother with the formality of her bra. That’s not what she’s here for, anyway.

“Can I?” She nods, breathless, never taking her eyes off of him. He removes them. She isn’t wearing underwear.

Her smell overwhelms his senses.

He’s smelled her before, when Scott gives her a certain look, or whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle with lust in the edges of her eyes. But this is different because he’s caused it himself.

He dips his head to taste her, telling himself that it’s only to satisfy his own curiosity and not to hear the sound of his name on her lips, the sting of her long nails in his scalp. Her back is arched off the bed and he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her steady. Allison manages to look down at him through her haze, eyes dark and desperate. He doesn’t look away.

This sort of thing, he thinks, should be saved for two in love. He wonders if he’s stolen this moment from her.

In all things, Derek is a giver, so he gives and gives until she can’t take anymore and she’s gripping his head with her thighs as she calls his name like a battle cry.

He makes his way back up her body, and pushes her sweat-soaked hair back off of her forehead.

There’s a brief moment where he wonders if, in another life, one where they had different last names, they could have made this work, could have been this for each other. It’s possible, he thinks, if only because of the way she’s looking at him right now.

Allison pulls him down, mouth seeking out his, and moans at the lingering taste on his tongue. He breaks from her mouth to remove the rest of his clothing, dig out the last condom underneath his bed, and craves her warmth while he’s gone. They kiss again as he shifts his body, his knee clumsily knocking hers apart so he can settle between her legs.

Derek makes quick work of unwrapping and rolling on the condom. She watches him while he does, chest heaving, skin shining with sweat. He barely has to glance at her before she’s nodding her head, giving him permission, and he’s pushing into her.

They’re still for a moment. Her eyes are screwed tight and he holds her face with one hand, his veins turning black with her discomfort. When her hips rise from the bed, he takes it as his cue to move.

His movements are timed, precise, with a twist in his hips every once in awhile to see what noises he can pull from her throat. His mouth is tracing her jaw, and her nails are digging into his shoulder, leaving crescent moons in his skin that will heal within fifteen seconds. A part of him, a part he’s buried deep inside himself, wishes they wouldn’t.

“ _ Fuck _ .” He watches the word leave her lips before dropping his face into her shoulder. Watching her come undone has him close enough already, and if he keeps looking at her face, he’ll be done for.

But he’s really had an effect on her; he can hear it in the way she says his name now, desperate, begging. He can feel it in the natural way her body is telling him that he has her right where he wants her. Her words are incoherent, his blasphemous in her ear, as she tightens around him, her body spasming for a moment before going rigid. He’s not far behind her, growling her name, eyes flashing blue.

As Allison lays there, catching her breath, his eyes roam over her, searching for any marks he may have left behind. It doesn’t really matter though, Scott will be able to smell Derek on her body from a mile away the next time he sees her. Something about that makes him smile.

He stands from the bed to dispose of the condom and pull his boxers back on. By the time he turns back around, Allison is fully dressed and making her way to him.

“Thank you, Derek.” she says, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. He hates how formal it feels. He watches her head for the door.

“You could stay.” He says, his mouth producing the words before his brain has a chance to catch up. “I mean, if you wanted.”

He swears he sees a falter in her footsteps, but she never stops walking.


End file.
